In Pursuit of Happiness
by SmilinStar
Summary: "If their eyes ever drop down to the other's lips, or their gazes linger longer than necessary; if Dan brushes his arm against hers once, twice, thrice too many – not one of them breathes a word." Dan/Blair


**In Pursuit of Happiness**

**Disclaimer:** Gossip Girl does not belong to me, belongs to whoever it belongs to . . .

**Rating:** G/K+

**Pairing:** Dan/Blair

**Warning: **Based on some spoilers and speculation for the rest of Season 4.

**Summary: **"If their eyes ever drop down to the other's lips, or their gazes linger longer than necessary; if Dan brushes his arm against hers once, twice, thrice too many – not one of them breathes a word."

**Author's Note:** I never thought I'd be writing Gossip Girl fanfic. Heck, I didn't even think I'd watch the show again, having given up on it somewhere during season 3, but such is the power of the cuteness that is Dan and Blair . . .

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Their respective responses were no surprise.

Plausible deniability was her default setting after all; forthrightness his - that was, of course, only if the occasion called for it, otherwise a healthy dosing of denial and lies were never amiss either.

It had been over almost the instance it had begun.

Her hands had remained clutched to his lapels, no time to inch their way around his neck and tangle in the curls at the back of his head. His one hand had remained frozen at her shoulder, the other feathery light at her waist, desperate to pull her closer, but too afraid, and thwarted by too little time.

A few measly seconds had not been enough.

Blair was the first to break the ensuing silence – her voice just as uncharacteristically unsure and faltering as it had been a mere few seconds ago, perhaps even more so now the unthinkable had happened;

"I hope that that answers your question?"

_(__One. Two. Three. Breathe.)_

"It has."

_(Swallow.)_

"Well good. I'm glad."

_(__And again. Breathe_.)

"Yeah, me too."

"I suppose, now that we've put that ridiculous theory to rest, we can go back to _not _being friends."

"If that's what you want?"

A hint of panic, buried alongside inexplicable hope she could barely recognise herself, let alone admit to, surfaced for the briefest of moments, "Why? Isn't that what you want?"

And if she couldn't recognise it, what hope had he?

"What? No, of course it is."

"Well good."

"Good."

More silence, and more staring; and if either one of them wanted to leap forwards at that moment, and test that initial theory that had got them to this point one more time, neither made their move. Instead, walking backwards away from her and towards the elevator, all Dan could muster was a "Well I should head back, Dad probably needs me, what with everything that's happened with Lily tonight."

"Yes, of course. And I should probably call Serena."

"Yes, probably. No, definitely. That's a good idea."

There may have been a slight upturn of Blair's lips at his rambling, but she stamped down the urge, stopping the embarrassing grin dead in its tracks before it could do any damage.

He turned on his heels then, only managing a few steps, before the hesitation kicked in. She saw it ripple through him, her heart fluttering away behind her ribcage with anticipation at the sight.

And then finally with hesitation and indecision trounced, he spun back around, and took long purposeful strides back in her direction, "Blair-"

His voice was loud and steady, cutting through the thick air effortlessly, but whatever it was that he had wanted to say, whatever it was that he had been about to do, she never had the chance to find out.

The elevator doors had opened, and familiar, unwelcome voices waded into the privacy of their moment, shattering the fragile, hazy dreamlike quality that had built up around them.

"Chuck, it's late, I'm not even sure she's-"

"I don't care, I have to see her!" Desperate. Frantic.

"Blair!" Surprise. "Dan?" More surprise.

"What are you doing here Humphrey?" Distaste.

Incomprehension, but no suspicion. After all, who could, would, suspect anything at all?

Dan and Blair. Individual entities, two proper nouns separated by a conjunction.

And _now_ by the harshness of reality.

"What's going on?" Serena asks, as guileless as ever in her confusion.

It slips from his mouth with the utmost of ease, "I uh, came looking for you actually. I wanted to see how you were doing?"

_("Humphrey! You're a born liar!")_

"Oh Dan, that's really sweet of you-"

"Yes, oh so very sweet Humphrey. You can leave now."

"Chuck!" Her tone is admonishing, yet still so soft, lenient, since she alone was aware of the emotional precipice her step-brother teetered upon. "Come on," she says on a sigh, letting it go without another word, "Chuck needs to talk to Blair. Let's go for a walk. I can fill you in on what's going on with Mom."

She gives Blair a reassuring smile, and squeezes Chuck's arm in support, "Call me if you need me."

Chuck doesn't say anything. Neither does he - just follows long blonde waves towards the elevator, daring to look back only once, but she isn't looking at him.

She's looking at _him_.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

He hasn't heard from her in eight days.

No invites to new exhibitions that have caught her fancy or unsubtle hints about movies playing at the Film Forum, no crazy follow up texts on how to execute covert run-ins or outlining exit strategies.

No late night knocks on the loft door, or at least none that he can now recognise as hers.

It really shouldn't bother him, but for the life of him he just can't remember the time when he used to go for months without saying a word to her, or be on the receiving end of a witty barb. And that had been just fine then, acceptable and preferable in fact. But now? Now, it was anything but.

He struggles too to remember when those barbs had changed from cruel, scathing, dismissive and bored to friendly, sparkling and almost affectionate.

His thoughts scare him, and so he tosses his phone aside and resolves to forget.

It never lasts long.

Lily is currently out on bail. She has the best legal support in all of Manhattan working to keep her out of prison, but she only sought the help eventually at the urging of his dad, Serena, Eric. He thinks part of her doesn't want to fight, part of her thinks she deserves to finally face up to her sins and pay for them.

Serena suspects it also, voicing her fears out loud to him curled up on his sofa at the loft one night.

She fears that she isn't trying hard enough out of some misguided attempt to make them proud of her.

Dan knows that's only half the truth.

Yes, Lily wants to be a mother they could finally be proud of, but she wants to be a person that she herself could be proud _to be_ just as much.

He never says this out loud though. Just listens as she vents in between the stretches of silence where they either do nothing at all, or sit and chew on their slices of pizza.

All the while he thinks, there isn't something quite right about this picture.

Serena also eventually tells him about Chuck and the never ending saga that is the Bass heir's life.

She didn't actually tell him anything that night. Though he had tried as subtly as he could to ask about Chuck and Blair, but she had just given him a rueful smile, and an "It's not my place to say."

But it all comes spilling out that night.

And all he can do is listen.

"Blair's the only one he can really talk to about this," she says, "If anyone can help him, get through to him, it's her. Always has been, always will be. They're Chuck and Blair," she laughs, "Blair and Chuck."

And it sounds like the end of a joke he's heard before.

Yawning, she smiles up at him through her lashes, "Can I stay here tonight?"

He remembers a time when he would have done anything to hear those words, and a time when that look on her face right now, would have reduced him to a rambling mess, and a grinning idiot with hearts in his eyes.

"Actually, Serena, I think you should probably go home tonight. You need to talk to your mom."

If she looks a little confused, a little upset and lost, he makes no show of noticing.

And so she leaves.

Leaves him to his empty loft, and his cell staring at him from across the living room.

He hasn't heard from her in eight days.

He picks up the phone, and dials.

He isn't making it nine.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Things get back to normal surprisingly easily.

After all, Blair, on top of being Queen of the Upper East Side, is also, what has now been well established, the inarguable President of Plausible Deniability.

Neither one of them bring up the subject of their failed experiment again. They fall back on their constant sniping and banter, mutual love of literature and art, and painstakingly pre-planned 'coincidental' meetings at the movie theatre.

If their eyes ever drop down to the other's lips, or their gazes linger longer than necessary; if Dan brushes his arm against hers once, twice, thrice too many whilst they're sat watching Roman Holiday for the fifth time, or if she hovers more closely and reads his New York magazine over his shoulder as she had never done before – not one of them breathes a word.

Things may have got back to normal, but things had most definitely, irrevocably, changed.

But _they_ weren't all that had changed.

Chuck was back to actively pursuing her. It seemed Eva and Raina were a thing of the past, the latter happily involved with Nate and with Chuck's blessing whether it was sought or not.

No, Chuck had only eyes for Blair. Not even Bass Industries was diverting his attention this time.

Blair naturally wonders that had he not learnt the truth about his father, whether she could have ever hoped to have trumped Bart Bass' legacy in his short list of things he holds dearest.

She knows the answer before the question can even fully form in her mind.

Chuck, of course, does his best to persuade her otherwise.

That, yes, he really has changed this time.

And, yes, he really will put her first.

And, yes, she means everything to him - the only thing that matters to him.

But she just can't make herself believe him.

"_If Chuck and I are meant to be together, then I should trust that."_

She remembers herself saying.

And she had believed every word of it.

Part of her still does, but now she's not sure she even wants that anymore.

And when had that happened, anyway?

Her thoughts scare her.

And while she tries not to dwell, she can't quite escape him. Those same thoughts rear their head again one bright April morning as she walks down Fifth Avenue.

She finds herself trying and failing to block out the image of Chuck standing by a limo, armed with piles of presents, pink peonies in hand, and the words "I love you" on his lips.

It was an image she used to treasure, but with constant wear and tear, it had lost its sheen.

It had always been the same though. Nothing ever changed - the colours, the blur of people around them, his smiling face – but today, out of nowhere, a flash of another head of dark hair, and familiar brown eyes pierce through her thoughts of Chuck, and shatter the image. The surprise almost knocks the wind out of her, leaving her startled enough to collide into the firm chest of a man wearing a very nice, very expensive coat. Definitely French, she thinks. She could literally smell Paris off of him.

"Oh I'm so sorry," she exclaims, embarrassment flushing her cheeks a pretty pink, "Pardonnez-moi, je suis vraiment désolé!" she adds, so sure is she of her assumption.

She looks up as she says it, and the instant gratification at knowing she was right, is blown away with the shock of the face she finds smiling down at her.

"Mademoiselle Blair. I was hoping I would find you."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Dan finds out through a Gossip Girl blast.

News of Blair finally finding her real day, hundred percent authentic French Prince Charming is the biggest news to hit the Upper East Side in as long as anyone can remember – even Lily's impending trial couldn't compete with actual royalty.

When he reads the blast, the flurry of emotions that barrel through him remain undefined. They linger long after though, leaving behind a bitter aftertaste he can't quite shake, and one he tries not to contemplate.

He thinks he's just mad she never told him first.

Mad he had to find out through Gossip Girl of all people.

Mad he even feels this way in the first place.

They aren't friends, after all.

She doesn't owe him any explanations.

But she rings him anyway.

And he can't figure out why. He can't figure _her_ out.

"It's fate! It has to be! Of all the millions of people in New York, I just happen to bump into him? What are the chances?"

"I'd hazard a guess and say near on impossible."

He tries to sound completely unaffected by her news, as if he really couldn't care less if she dated the King of Egypt or just another wealthy Upper East Side heir that were a dime a dozen.

He does not care.

No, not in the least.

"We're having a ball in Louis' honour tomorrow night."

"And you're telling me this because?"

"Because I am inviting you, you idiot."

"Me? Are you sure you dialled the right number there, Waldorf? You did notice the Brooklyn area code before you started dialling, right?"

She rolls her eyes, "Oh don't act so surprised Humphrey. We already established how terrible an actor you are senior year."

He tries not to recollect that particular performance she's alluding too, and Blair's silence across the phone line makes him think she's doing the exact same.

Sighing, he can't help but ask, "Why?"

"Why what?" she huffs.

"Why are you inviting me?"

Two seconds of silence turn into twenty; "Because I want you to meet him."

"Why?" He's pushing his luck, he knows, but he just can't help himself.

Whatever he's expecting though, it certainly isn't her answering him so honestly and without prompt or hesitation;

"Because we're friends."

And how can he deny her now?

"Fine," he answers, and the grin that spreads across his face as he does seems to know no limits, especially as he just _knows_ she's smiling right back at him.

"Good," she says, and somehow he can tell she's struggling to stop smiling just as much as he is, even though the blasé, couldn't care less tone of her voice, lets him know that she's reinstating their status quo. "I'm glad you finally realised that this is a once in a lifetime opportunity, Humphrey. Now we just need to get you some decent clothes before you can even contemplate stepping out in front of royalty."

"This means a shopping trip, doesn't it?" he groans.

"What were you planning on doing, renting a seventh hand tuxedo from an online costume party store? Or were you thinking on wearing one of your own? I'm not even sure which option's worse."

Smirking, "You know, now that you mention it . . ."

"Dan!"

He caves almost instantly.

He was always going to.

She just doesn't need to know how easily.

And if he's secretly pleased she's asked him, and kind of, maybe, just a little, looking forward to their shopping trip, he doesn't ponder over it too long.

And as for the reason why they even need to go in the first place? Well, he ignores that one altogether.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"Pink?"

Blair watches as the distaste creeps into every crease of the frown on his face.

"Oh catch up Humphrey! Pink has been a staple in every male's wardrobe for at least a solid four years now. We are so over the colour associated gender stereotypes; or are you really that insecure in your sexuality?"

She can see he knows what she's doing, and stubborn as he is, refuses to let her win without a fight.

"But pink? It really doesn't suit my palette," he deadpans.

"I'll be the judge of that," she retorts not amused in the slightest, whilst holding up the tie in her hands against his neck. The problem with that is he's still wearing his winter coat and an old woollen scarf. She notes it's not the one Vanessa gave him. In fact, she's not seen him wear that one in a very long time. _Interesting_, she thinks.

"Oh for goodness sake, will you take off your coat! You can't buy a tux without even trying it on first! I thought you would know at least that much!"

He does what she asks eventually. Not of course without throwing a few smartass remarks in her direction. She throws back some of her own in retaliation but for the most part manages to rise above his juvenile protests that are masked poorly by witty rejoinders by turning her nose up in the air, and dumping as many white shirts, black pants and jackets she can find into his waiting arms. She then pushes him in the direction of the changing rooms, and relaxes back into the leather seats just outside.

Ten minutes pass, and there's still no sign of him.

"What are you, a girl? Hurry up already!" she yells as she flicks impatiently through this month's GQ that's been left on the couch.

He starts rambling before she even hears him slide the door's latch open, "Okay, okay I'm out. And I honestly have to say Blair, I just don't see the difference between this tux and every other tux I've ever worn. Except maybe, you know, the price tag. Which, by the way, were we even going to talk about-"

"Of course you wouldn't see the difference," she snaps, interrupting him mid-sentence as she tosses the magazine in her hands aside before finally looking up, "but I . . . can."

_(". . . he's not a completely horrible looking straight guy . . . ")_

"So does this meet with Blair Waldorf's approval? Is it quite up to your highness' standards?"

"It's passable," she manages to say with as much disinterest as possible laced into those four syllables. But in spite of her best efforts, she still hates the way her voice wavers and her heart speeds up just a fraction at the sight of him.

"Hallelujah!" he laughs, throwing his hands up, "I guess I don't need to try on anymore, and we can get the hell out of here!"

"Not so fast," she smiles sweetly, the kind of sweetly bound around a rotten, evil core, "I said passable. Passable is not perfect, Humphrey."

It's a lie.

He looks pretty damn perfect to her.

She tries to force that treacherous thought out of her head, before her cheeks turn any pinker than they already are.

It's too late though because she's sure he can read her mind as he raises his brows at her, a smile playing on his lips.

Her eyes fix on those same lips almost instinctively, and she curses him inside her head for it.

She knows he feels it too, the shift in the room, because the smile drops and he raises an awkward hand to rub at the back of his neck, "So, another one?"

She clears her throat, "No that's fine. Passable will do, we'd be here forever otherwise looking for perfection, and let's be honest, that's not you."

He doesn't argue.

And she tries not to think about the twinge in her chest at the ripple of hurt she sees flicker in his eyes.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Dan really wants to hate him.

He doesn't really know why.

(Who knew denial could be contagious?)

But so far, Prince Louis has done nothing to justify being on the receiving end of such hatred.

He has been unfailingly polite all evening.

Not the least bit snobbish, shaking everyone's hands and exchanging pleasantries as if he really means them. And to top it all off, he's playing the role of royal boyfriend to perfection. The kind of perfection Blair could and would never find closer to home. It's just like her that she would eventually find it in Paris of all places.

She looks stunning in her pink ball gown, radiant with her arm looped around Louis' elbow, beaming wide at every guest they greet. She plays her role just as perfectly as he does.

The orchestra starts up a slow waltz, and he stands and watches from the corner of the ballroom as the Prince offers his hand to a delighted Blair.

He can see the little girl inside of her squeal with excitement. The same little girl who probably danced around her bedroom, wrapped up in the arms of her imaginary Prince Charming. The one with whom she would forever dream of sharing true love's first kiss.

She's living her fairytale.

And he can't hate him for making it come true.

He wonders if he now finally shares something in common with Chuck Bass.

The man in question is standing on the opposite side of the room to him; his attention drawn by the same woman, his gaze intense, unwavering and giving very little away.

Chuck Bass is not easily readable.

There are only a few times Dan can remember when he had let his guard down around him.

And for a moment he sees it. It's the briefest of blips on his impassive exterior. Blair laughs with abandon as she spins around on the dance floor, and he can see Chuck's heart break at the sight. The moment is over so fast; he could almost be led to believe he imagined it. But the look of determination that follows is not being hidden at all – its there for all to see if they just happen to glance in his direction at that precise moment.

Funny then that he decides to turn on his feet and leave.

But Dan knows.

He knows he's learning which battles are worth fighting and others where a tactical retreat is more appropriate. Either way, it is obvious to him that Chuck is choosing his battles carefully, but he is still very much in the war.

He lifts his glass to his lips, and drinks down what is left of his champagne, and tries not to think.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

He's smiling at her – with everything from his lips, to his eyes and even with his words, "You look like you're living out a dream." And she feels his smile warm her from the inside out.

She laughs, "This has never been my dream."

"I find that hard to believe."

"Dreams of marrying a Prince? It's so unoriginal. So common."

He chuckles, low and deep, and she feels it in the pit of her belly, down to her toes.

"I'm no Cinderella," she adds.

He thinks this over a while, a hand reaching out and running a finger through her sleek hair, "No that would be me."

She shakes her head softly, and whispers, "No. We write our own fairytales."

"And who are we in ours?"

"Just Dan and Blair."

"Dan and Blair," he replies, fingers moving out of her hair, thumb sliding gently down her cheek and finally over parted lips.

Everything about him was maddeningly soft and gentle - his eyes, his voice, his touch.

The faint sound of music drifts down towards them from the ballroom. The orchestra have started up again, and she feels a keen sadness welling up inside her. She doesn't want to leave, but she knows she must.

"I have to go."

"I know."

"I don't want to."

"So stay."

"I can't."

A sad smile of acceptance, "I know."

Of course he'll let her go. If it's what she wants, he would never be the one to hold on.

"Before you go-"

He doesn't need to finish that sentence, she just knows.

He moves first this time, his hands dropping to her waist pulling her forwards gently, and she finally lets go of the breath she'd been holding all this time.

Everything fades away into the background as he kisses her, and it's just them, and this moment.

Soft, slow, sweet, heartbreaking.

It feels a lot like goodbye.

Her hands rest on his shoulders, they desperately want to hold on tighter, and not let go.

But he pulls away too soon, and she's helpless to stop him.

"Dan," she whispers, and it really is goodbye.

She wakes up with a start, tears staining her cheeks and her heart racing so fast, she can almost hear it hum in the night time silence.

She takes a few deep breaths in an effort to calm herself, and tries to wipe her mind of the images that had played like a movie in full technicolour behind closed eyelids. But it had been more than just mere moving images.

She had _felt_ everything. It had been so vivid, so _real_.

She knows it wasn't though

She's left wondering in the darkness if the ache in her chest is just another figment of her imagination, the remnants of a dream.

She knows it isn't.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

It's been six days since he last saw her at the ball.

She hasn't answered a single phone call, or replied to any one of his hundred texts.

He wracks his brain to think of anything he may have done to deserve the silent treatment, but he knows it's not his male we-don't-understand-the-opposite-sex-and-never-will brain that is just failing to pick up on any obscure clues.

He had been polite to the Prince, and interacted with Blair as he normally would at any formal event. He hadn't so much as glanced at Vanessa _(What had she even been doing there?)_, and he had hardly seen Serena the entire night, so jealousy was out of the question, not that that was even a remote possibility in the first place; because, well, that would have to mean Blair had felt something between them _that_ night, and well, she hadn't, had she?

Leaning back in his chair, he stretches out his arms and sighs before throwing his pen onto the desk in front of him.

Its no use, this non-existent fight between the two of them is giving him a major case of writer's block. On top of that he's starving, as his stomach kindly reminds him out loud again for the second time in ten minutes. Hunger plus a preoccupation with someone who is not even a friend is not a state conducive to writing, and so Dan decides to cut his losses and go off to look for something that could just about pass off as dinner.

Just as he reaches out to open the fridge door is when someone decides to knock on the door.

He knows that knock.

He would laugh at the predictability of it all, but for some reason his mouth has gone dry.

She knocks again. Impatient, as ever.

He pulls the door open wide, and steps aside.

She barges in just like she always does without so much as a hello.

"So what brings Blair Waldorf to Brooklyn?" he asks shutting the door behind her.

"I took pity and thought I should put you out of your misery, especially after your pathetic last text, "Are you even alive?" Really?"

"Well thank you for the reassurance, but it's not like I was losing any sleep over you."

She smirks at that, "A hundred texts Humphrey."

He rolls his eyes, and protests, "Nowhere near a hundred!"

The self satisfied smile doesn't leave her face as she moves over to the couch, and kicks off her shoes before sitting back comfortably, "So what are we watching? And don't even pretend that you were actually getting anywhere with your epic novel about a pauper named Stan and a rich leggy blonde named . . . Catrina, before I got here."

He laughs, and doesn't bother wiping the ridiculous grin from his face, "You choose, I'll go order us some pizza."

"Gourmet!" she demands after him.

Its hours later when he finally manages to get the real answer out of her.

The clear night sky is occupied by the last quarter crescent moon and thousands of stars, bright enough to filter in through the loft's windows so the room's not shrouded in complete darkness, especially now that the end credits of the film have rolled to a stop on Dan's laptop.

Blair is curled up against his chest, warm and comfortable, _awake._

It is entirely silent, until she opens her mouth and speaks;

"He asked me to marry him."

He's sure his heart stops beating for a second after she says those words, and he's sure she felt it.

"Who did?"

"Louis."

He doesn't say anything. What is he supposed to say?

He is silent for too long.

"Dan?" she asks, her voice so small, vulnerable.

"What was your answer?"

She pushes away from him, and sits up straight.

His arm that had been draped loosely around her shoulders falls into his lap.

She looks him in the eyes, and answers, "I said yes."

He swallows, before nodding and looking away, "Is that what you want?"

"Would I have said yes if it wasn't?"

"Guess not."

"Does he make you happy?" he then asks, looking back up at her.

"Yes," she answers firmly, but he wonders just what he sees lurking behind her eyes as she does.

"In that case, congratulations," he says and tries to mean it.

"Thank you, Humphrey," is the last she says on the subject.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"You're getting married? Married to some French Prince, you've known all of what? A week?"

Blair doesn't bother looking up, as she politely excuses herself from the conversation with her wedding planner.

She stands up, and still without looking him in the eyes, grabs on to his arm and steers him away in the direction of the lobby, "I know you're upset Chuck, but I'm happy and I'm doing this whether you like it or not."

"Happy?" he laughs, incredulous, "This is ridiculous Blair! Do you even _love_ him?"

"I don't have to answer to you."

"You don't, do you? Why are you even doing this? Do you want to be Queen again so badly, you'll marry some irrelevant Prince you don't even _know_?"

"Leave Chuck."

"Don't marry him."

"Chuck . . ."

"I love you."

Her eyes flutter close at those three words, eight letters.

He reaches forward and cups a hand around her cheek, a soft caress, so unlike him.

"Its not too late Blair," he whispers.

She smiles sadly, as she reaches up and pulls his hand away, "It is," she says, "It is too late."

And she means it in more ways than one as she walks away.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

Two weeks pass in the blink of an eye since her announcement. The wedding is looming closer – just a few days left to go before she turns into Blair Grimaldi née Waldorf.

If it were happening to anybody else, Dan would think it absolutely ridiculous. But it's Blair, and so anything is possible – including meeting a French prince for a day, bumping into the same prince again months later in a crowded city teeming with millions of people, dating for only a few days, before getting engaged, and then getting married all in the space of a month.

He isn't really sure what to think about it all.

Especially when it feels like she's spending all her free time (how does she even have any with the wedding of the century to plan?) with him.

He's surprised Gossip Girl hasn't picked up on it yet. After all, what exactly is the Upper East Side Queen B doing in Lonely Boy's Brooklyn loft nearly every night, when she's supposed to be betrothed to a royal? It's the kind of scandal Gossip Girl would happily die and then go on to indefinitely haunt cyberspace for.

And although he has every right to question it too, he never does.

Somehow he knows it's exactly what she needs.

He's learning patience is the only thing that works with her.

They're in his office. He's sat at his desk, finishing off the last sentence of his most recent piece of work he's prepping for submission, whilst Blair stands perusing his collection of books that have spilled over from his bedroom.

"Why haven't you said anything?" she asks suddenly.

"About what?"

"I'm sure you have your opinions, which you've been dying to unload, so why haven't you?"

"About what?" he repeats.

"You're not going to try to talk me out of it, give me the whole 'you don't even know the guy!', 'you're moving too fast', 'you're too young' or 'marriage is a lifetime commitment, are you sure you're ready for this?' clichés?"

"I'm sure you thought about all of those things before you said yes."

"You make a terrible friend Humphrey," she huffs.

He smiles at that, "Right back at you Waldorf."

This time she smiles, her finger absent-mindedly running up and down the worn spine of one of his many well read classics.

"So what do you fancy watching?" he changes the subject, as he moves away towards his heavily burdened shelf of DVDs.

But she doesn't answer him, and instead responds with a question of her own.

"Dan?" Her voice is soft, unsure and laced with a silent plea. She has turned around to face him, her doe eyes dark and serious.

She wants honesty.

And he gives it to her in the only way he can;

"Are you happy?"

"Yes."

He thinks she almost believes her lie, now. Almost

"Then that's all that matters," he sighs, "doesn't matter what anyone says, least of all Chuck Bass. Unless of course, you're still in love with him?"

"Who said anything about Chuck?"

"I know you, Blair."

She doesn't say anything at that.

"I'm not."

And it's the way she says it, the look of self-realisation that flits across her face in that one moment as she utters those two syllables, that he knows it's the truth.

That's all either one of them says on the subject for a long time.

They make dinner, or more like Dan makes dinner, Blair watches across the counter and complains about his culinary techniques, before she finally has enough and intervenes.

Dan just smiles the smile he's unwittingly reserved for her, and her alone, and lets her order him about. He could refuse her, he's done it before, but as she ridicules the mess he's made and her eyes sparkle with unabashed glee at taking charge, he finds he really doesn't mind.

_("Follow my lead, Humphrey. You're used to doing that.")_

They forget about the movie Blair's picked out as they sit and eat, their topic of discussion moving from one to another so fast, it would be hard for anyone other than them to follow.

And it's only during one of the rare lulls in their conversation that she brings it up again,

"You will be there won't you?"

He lowers his wine glass and simply says, "If you want me to, I will."

She doesn't answer him straight away.

It's only when she leaves through his front door at ten to midnight, he gets his answer.

There on the kitchen counter is one cream and gold enveloped invite with the words, 'Mr Daniel Humphrey' handwritten across the front.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The day finally arrives.

And whilst everyone around her is running around in a whirlwind of frenzied action, she's caught in the eye of the storm, sitting and enjoying the false serenity of the moment.

She isn't sure what she's feeling, or even what she's supposed to feel.

Someone is still fixing her hair, someone else in the background is still fussing over the bouquets; her mother has disappeared to no doubt check on the flower girls and make sure their dresses are still pristine, and Dorota? Well, she's sure she's caught up in the same whirlwind as everyone else.

Her non-thoughts are interrupted by the loud squeals of her best friend as she bursts in through the door, "Oh my god B, you look beautiful!"

She smiles at Serena's reflection in the mirror, "So do you, S."

She brushes the compliment aside, "I'm serious B, you look amazing."

"Thank you."

"Can you believe this is actually happening?" The wonder is written all over her face, "My best friend is getting married!"

Blair nods, "Yes I am."

"I'm surprised you're not freaking out already," she laughs

_("B, you really do seem good.")_

"Why should I be freaking out?" she asks calmly.

"No, it's just," she instantly goes on the defensive, "this is huge. It's only natural to be a little scared."

"I'm not."

"Well that's good."

And then her best friend smiles one of those 'everything is going to be okay' smiles and everything is forgotten.

"I'm really happy for you," she says reaching down to wrap her arms around her and hug her tight.

She watches herself smile in the mirror, and wonders what's wrong with the reflection.

Her mother returns a few minutes later to shoo Serena away - the maid of honour needs to finish getting ready.

Once she's disappeared, Eleanor Waldorf turns to her daughter, pulls her to stand and just looks at her, "I'm so proud of you."

And there are tears in her mother's eyes, but none in her own.

She says nothing else as she hugs her, and kisses the top of her head.

"I'm just going to go check that the orchestra are in place."

"Okay."

Blair turns back to stare at herself in the mirror, only to find Dorota is somehow standing behind her. But her face isn't all smiles like everyone else so far, and that doesn't surprise her in the least; nor does the soft concern on her face as she speaks, "Miss Blair, are you sure?"

"Yes, of course I am."

"Okay," she nods.

_("Don't need you to be happy couple, Miss Blair. I just need you to be happy.")_

"Um Miss Blair," she becomes nervous now, and somehow she just knows what it is she's going to say, "Mr Chuck is outside. He wants to speak with you."

She's been waiting for this moment all day, and hadn't even realised it.

"Its okay Dorota, send him in."

Reluctant though she is, Dorota does as she's asked, just like always.

He's not dressed for a wedding, that's the first thing she notes.

The other is that he doesn't look like he's slept in days.

"What are you doing here Chuck?" she asks.

"You invited me."

"I did, and so you should be sat outside along with all the other guests."

"I had to see you."

"What, to tell me I'm making a mistake, again? I heard you the first time Chuck, and the hundred times after that."

"You don't love him."

"I don't love you."

She wishes she didn't have to tell him like this, but what choice does she have? Part of her would maybe always belong to him, and that part which does love him is the same part that _needs _him to let her go. For his own sake more than hers.

He takes in a ragged breath, and she watches as he struggles to regain his composure before determination flares up again, "You don't mean that."

"I do. I really do."

He shakes his head, "Blair, if this is about you trying to hurt me as much as I hurt you, then it's worked. We're even now; you don't have to go through with this," and then more quietly, more restrained, "He can't make you happy."

_("You do deserve to be with someone who makes you happy.")_

She smiles enigmatically at him with those words. He doesn't know it, but those words shatter the illusion around her, and the storm has now well and truly passed.

Stepping towards him, she reaches up and hugs him tight, "This isn't about you, this is about me," she breathes, and she doesn't mean it in the same tired old way spouted by many parting couples before them.

And then, without another word for she owes him no more than that, she walks out the door.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"What's taking so long?" Nate whispers beside him.

Dan just shakes his head, "I have no idea."

The orchestra starts up again.

Two attempts at the wedding march, and still no sign of Blair.

"Maybe it's Chuck," Raina speaks up.

"Chuck? I didn't uh, I didn't think he was coming," Dan tries not to let his mind run away with all the possibilities.

He doesn't quite understand why he's still so calm at the sight of Louis at the altar, Serena in her bridesmaid dress, and a church full of wedding guests.

And he thinks maybe it's because he always knew she would never go through with it.

Just how far she would take it before she broke though? That he hadn't been able to answer.

In his head he'd conjured up images of her getting as far as the altar, before replacing the words "I do" with "I can't". And if she then turns and runs into his arms in those daydreams, he would promptly brush those thoughts aside and laugh at his need to make himself the leading man in every one of his stories.

The point is, he knows Blair Waldorf.

He has no idea when it happened, how it happened, but he _knows_ her. And she was never going to be satisfied as the wife of a royal, forever having to walk two steps behind a man.

But Chuck?

Chuck's her greatest weakness, and though he knows she's no longer in love with him, anyone would be a fool to underestimate the pull he has over her.

"I saw him earlier before we came in and sat down," Raina is saying.

"You don't think?" Nate asks, the rest of the question implicit.

"I don't know."

At the front of the hall, Serena apologises to the guests and explains there's just been a slight delay, and walks hurriedly back up the aisle and out through the double doors through which Blair was supposed to be making her entrance.

Dan and Nate get up and follow.

They find her standing outside Blair's bridal room, panic written all over her face, "She's not there. She's gone."

And so begins the long search for the runaway bride.

Dan reluctantly agrees to help Serena; after all, he has appearances to keep up, and putting just how worried he actually is for one Blair Waldorf on display for the whole of the Upper East Side to see would attract the kind of attention he just isn't ready for.

With Serena, Nate, Eleanor, Dorota, Harold and Cyrus all looking for her, he doesn't really think they need his help much anyway, but he ends up staying regardless.

Everyone assumes she's run away with Chuck, eloped, something ridiculous like that, and although there's a dark thought hiding somewhere inside him biding its time to creep out and overpower his base instinct which is telling him its not at all possible, the thought is still there and its unsettling.

It's nearly three hours later when they finally make a breakthrough.

Serena's cell bleeps, and the _1 new message_ flashing across the screen has never looked sweeter.

They're almost shoulder to shoulder on the sidewalk, on their way back to Blair's, when the cell in her hand (which she hasn't let go of once since her best friend's no-show at her own wedding) lights up. She grabs a hold of his arm, and he nearly trips over at the suddenness of the motion.

"It's from Blair!" she says, wide-eyed with shock.

"Well, what's it say?" he asks, trying not to sound so eager. More than anything, he just wants to know she's okay.

Serena's silent as she reads, before shaking her head and laughing, "Unbelievable."

"What?"

She hands him the phone and he reads the message out loud; "I'm fine, I'm not with Chuck, you can stop looking for me now. B"

He laughs too. How much of it is relief? He's pretty sure it's near 95 percent, the remainder all Blair.

Serena sighs out loud, "I'm really glad actually."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, she was just doing this to prove a point; her heart was never really in it."

"So why didn't you tell her she was making a mistake?" he asks, curious.

"I did."

The "But she's Blair . . ." lingers silently, and as the unspoken words register in his head, he realizes something. Something he should have thought of three hours ago, but he hadn't then lent that small forming idea enough credence to allow it to fully bloom.

But now, for some reason, he just _knows._

"Hey," the blonde beside him smiles wide, "You fancy grabbing something to eat?"

"I'm sorry," he breathes out in a rush, "there's somewhere I've got to be."

"Right now?"

"Right now," he nods, leaving a bewildered Serena behind as he runs across the street and hails down a cab, quicker than she can say "Rain check?"

The cab ride is agonisingly slow, caught up in the city's ever present traffic, the snail's pace drives him to near distraction.

He almost wants to carelessly throw the cab fare at the driver, and run all the way.

_("I swear if I could shove my feet through the floor, I could run faster!")_

When he finally gets there, and finds the door open, he's not surprised.

And so it's not surprise either that embraces the one word he breathes out once he steps inside. It's so many other nameless emotions he can't quite grasp, but he's sure he'll find the words some day and commit them to paper.

"Blair."

And there she is.

In her wedding gown.

The white skirt completely surrounds her, almost hiding their couch from view as she just sits there.

Her shoes have been discarded under the coffee table, her feet tucked up somewhere underneath her dress.

Her hair is coming undone, falling out of her elegant bun to frame her face.

The same face that is smiling almost tentatively and unsure up at him. He watches as she takes a breath in, summons up her courage, looks him straight in the eyes and says four words. Just four.

"_You_ make me happy."

He doesn't need any more than that.

Closing the door behind him, he wordlessly walks over to sit on the coffee table in front of her. Reaching out he brushes one of the curls out of her face, and tucks it behind her ear.

He grins down at her growing impatience;

"Oh for goodness sake, Humphrey, do I have to do ever-"

And kisses her.

**End**

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

**A/N 2:** So, I don't for one moment actually think it'll play out like this on the show, but I had fun with it anyway. I hope I didn't completely butcher this. I was very wary about posting it, so I'd love to know what you thought, so please leave some feedback, good/bad (I can take it. I think :P); it's all very much appreciated.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it.

**SmilinStar**

**xxx**


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